


written in the stars

by uhpockuhlipz



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 14:42:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6156952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhpockuhlipz/pseuds/uhpockuhlipz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The missing scene that preceded the Bitanic scene</p>
            </blockquote>





	written in the stars

“ _Wanheda.”_

The guards bowed their heads to her and Clarke eyed them warily, still not quite happy about being addressed by that title. Every time she heard it now, she heard it in Bellamy’s bitter, mocking voice, a rejection of all she was. _The mighty wanheda._ God, it was all so damned complicated. Why was nothing on Earth ever simple? 

“What?” She asked it with more snap than she intended, but if the guards were offended, they didn’t show it. 

“ _Heda_ is looking for you,” said the one that spoken before. “We are supposed to escort you to her.”

Clarke rubbed the back of her neck, willing away all the tension that settled there, pinching at nerves. She just wanted to be alone in her room, away from talk of war and blood and shaky treaties. But It wouldn’t look good to deny Lexa her request, so she nodded and followed after them as they led her down the familiar path to Lexa’s room.

They opened the doors for her and announced her presence. Inside, Lexa turned from her window, waving the guards away with a flick of her hand before motioning Clarke forward. Clarke moved towards her, noting that Lexa looked as tired as she felt. There were shadows beneath her eyes and she was paler than usual, a testament to all the trouble they’d faced recently.

“Thank you for joining me, Clarke,” she said, and her voice was soft in that way it was when they were alone. 

“Of course,” she said, and she didn’t bother to point out that she really hadn’t had a choice. It wasn’t true in any case. Lexa almost always gave her a choice. “What’s up?” Clarke just wanted this discussion over. She wanted all the death, all the miscommunication, all the fighting to just… end. But she’d come to learn that in Polis, everything was politics and every detail had to be continuously ironed out. 

Lexa, however, held no trace of her usual somber expression. She was watching Clarke closely, eyes flickering over her. More green than blue today, Clarke thought, though they seemed to change constantly. The ebb and flow of the sea that Clarke had yet to witness in person. Every time they met like this, the first thing she took note of was the color of Lexa’s eyes. 

“I was hoping… That is, you had mentioned…” Lexa paused, held a hand up to keep Clarke silent as she rubbed the bridge of her nose. Then she turned from her and retrieved something that looked like folded leather, which she then passed to Clarke. Baffled, she opened it, noticed with confusion that it contained several sheets of blank paper. She’d expected maps and received… Well, she wasn’t certain what it was she’d received. 

Clarke looked back up at Lexa, brow furrowed, and noticed that she held something else out now - a tin filled with charcoal. “You mentioned that you used to draw,” Lexa murmured, “So I thought perhaps you might like to again.”

There was the vague flicker of a memory. They’d been discussing another strategy for fixing this mess with Arkadia when they’d drifted away from the point and started talking about their histories instead. Nothing too deep, just little stories that offered insight into one another’s lives. _I liked to draw,_ Clarke had said. _I haven’t been able to since being on the ground. No time, no inspiration. Nothing to draw with anyway._ And then she’d laughed and launched into a story about herself as a child. It never occurred to her that Lexa would remember such a trivial detail.

And yet here they stood, Lexa looking slightly embarrassed the longer she held out the tin until Clarke finally took it. “I don’t know what to say,” she murmured. “Thank you.” For doing this, she thought, and for remembering.

Lexa nodded once, the hands that were now empty dropping to her sides. “I hope that you might find some inspiration here in Polis. Clarke…” Lexa hesitated again, and for a moment, Clarke thought perhaps she didn’t have anything else to say. But then she was taking in a deep breath and stepping slightly forward, a nervous half step before freezing and casting her gaze around the room. “I was hoping that you might… That you might stay here with me. Just for a short time.”

It was the last thing Clarke would have ever expected Lexa to request. Typically their days were spent in their separate quarters, with conversations happening only when there were things to discuss. Pressing issues, plans, angry words on occasion. But never requests like this, asked almost timidly and without eye contact. Clarke wasn’t sure how to respond and so she said nothing.

“I was hoping for company,” Lexa confessed when the silence had stretched. “But if you would rather not stay, Clarke, I understand.”

“No.” Clarke shocked herself with the reply, but stood firmly by it. “No, I would like to stay. That would be… nice.”

And so she did. 

They didn’t talk, didn’t need to. It was enough for both of them to feel one another’s presence. Clarke sat in Lexa’s chair, curled up her legs, and studied her gifted papers as she wondered what to draw. Lexa sat at the end of the couch farthest from Clarke, curled up, a book in her hands. Every once in a while, Clarke could feel her eyes on her, but she didn’t look up. She just drew whatever came to mind, tiny sketches that ended up turning into things like Lexa’s eyes, her hands. Lexa sitting on her throne twirling her knife, Lexa sitting on the ground surrounded by her Nightbloods. Nothing terribly detailed, just little images that kept flashing through her head.

When she looked up again, she noticed Lexa had stretched out at some point so that she now lay sprawled across the couch, eyes drooping and book leaning closer and closer to her chest. It made Clarke smile slightly. As quietly as possible, she shifted a fresh sheet of paper to the front of the pile and waited. 

Sure enough, Lexa was asleep only moments later. There was something different about her in sleep, something vulnerable. And, God, so beautiful. Not that she wasn’t regularly, Clarke thought with a small frown as she studied her newest subject. But when she was awake, there was always such intensity, such caution. She never completely lowered her shields. In sleep… In sleep, she reminded her of the Lexa she’d seen only in brief glimpses.

The Lexa who’d murmured, “Not everyone. Not you.” The Lexa who’d taken in a quick breath before stepping forward, her lips soft and uncertain as they pressed to Clarke’s. The Lexa who’d told her that she should come to Polis after they took the mountain, adding hopefully that it would change her mind about them.

The Lexa who’d dropped to her knees and promised Clarke things that Lexa’s people would kill her for if they knew.

In sleep, she looked like what she was. Just a girl, a girl like Clarke, with the weight of worlds on her shoulders. A girl Clarke had nearly kissed when she’d come to her room after the fight against Roan. One she felt her heart yearning towards again, more frightening than thrilling, as love was meant to be. Lexa was everything that was impossible for Clarke to have, to want, and yet….

And yet…

She began to draw.


End file.
